


Nothing Lasts Forever

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [3]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - NHL, Alternate Universe - Sports, Angst, Dog(s), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hockey, Hockey - Fandom - Freeform, NHL, NHL - Fandom - Freeform, NHL - Offseason, Original Fiction, Raptors, Seattle, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing lasts forever. Not even the post-Stanley Cup loss blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Lasts Forever

**Author's Note:**

> No hockey here. Just Hank trying to get over himself with Gretzky's help :). There will be hockey in the next part though.
> 
> And random note: I did some bad math when writing "The Agony of Defeat." The Winnipeg Jets didn't exist 3 years ago. My bad.

Hank recalled hearing former Raptors captain Darren Foulke interviewed after the team’s defense of its 1992-1993 Stanley Cup title fell short in a seven-game first round at the hands of the San Jose Sharks. Darren had uttered only one sentence: “ _Nothing lasts forever.”_

At the time Hank had been studying for the LSAT and brushing off the mostly teasing but increasingly serious suggestions that he declare for the NHL draft rather than go to law school. He never could have imagined he would one day be a Raptor, eventually inherit the C from Darren, and one day find himself on the wrong end of a Stanley Cup Game 7.

It wasn't like Hank had never faced playoff disappointment before. In his third year the team had gone from a near stranglehold on the regular season Western Conference title to a franchise record (it was probably a league record too, but Hank could never bring himself to find out) 14-game losing streak and not making the playoffs at all. They'd fallen in conference finals twice, and since Darren retired the team had until this year never gotten beyond the semi-finals. But getting _almost_ all the way...somehow it was worse than not getting close at all.

_Man, you need to stop this,_ Hank told himself. _You are 40 years old, not some starry-eyed rookie._ He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Katie had gone on a ladies’ retreat with church, leaving him alone for a couple of nights. She’d fretted about whether she should go, but Hank had eventually convinced her. She probably needed a break from him and he needed some time to himself. Such as he could get in a house with five children in it. _Soon to be six._ The idea that he would be a father again by October made Hank feel briefly better.

In the 10 days since the Raptors had gone down to ignominious defeat, Hank had bounced from sadness to anger to normalcy and back again. There didn’t seem to be enough sleep in the world to help him regain equilibrium, which wasn't helping matters any. He was forgetful and lethargic and the renowned Sheridan temper had made a few appearances. Last night Hank had snapped at Ashley—his sweet, gentle Ashley--harshly enough to make her cry. Hank had apologized profusely afterwards and Ashley was as always quick to forgive, but Hank still felt horrible. It wasn’t bad enough he’d failed as a hockey player, now he had to fail as a father too.

_Stop. Stop it,_ Hank chastised himself. _You know that isn’t true._ He lay down on the bed and folded his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Hank had learned after that 14-game spiral that a big loss really did bring on a grieving process, and like any grieving process there was no remedy but time.

After a few minutes, Hank got the feeling he wasn’t alone. He opened his eyes and glanced around the room, fully expecting to find one of his children. Instead, he found his dog.

“Gretzky, how’d you get in here?” Hank asked.

The dog, of course, didn’t answer. He just backed up and gave a small whine.

“All right.” Hank patted the covers next to him. “Don’t tell your mom.”

Gretzky leapt onto the bed and sniffed at Hank’s face as if asking his master what was wrong. Then he dragged his tongue up Hank’s cheek, like he’d determined the problem and a German shepherd puppy kiss was the solution.

Hank chuckled. “You always know what to say, Gretzky, you know that?”

Gretzky settled onto the mattress, rested his chin on Hank’s chest and looked up with sympathetic brown eyes.

Hank turned onto his side and tucked his right arm under the pillow, his left around Gretzky’s ribs. The dog yawned and stretched his legs out, filling in the hollow between Hank’s knees and chin.

“You’re a good boy, Gretzky,” Hank murmured, rubbing his palm along the pooch’s side. “Yes you are. You’re a good boy.”

Hank shut off the light and nuzzled his face into Gretzky’s thick fur, relaxing into the pup’s simple, unquestioning comfort. He hadn’t been this content in a week and a half. No, probably not since the playoffs began.

_October will be here soon enough,_ Hank thought.

_After all, nothing lasts forever._


End file.
